


Surprised

by FreckledSkittles



Series: Barisi Is Married and Happy Because I Said So [4]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Chef Rafael Barba, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, M/M, Married Barisi, Married Couple, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Tuxedos, also nick and mike are here because i said so, also svu is comprised of wingmen, grating cheese is sexy, his restaurant is named after his husband fuck me, just a bite at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: “This was worth everything,” he whispers.“Was it?” Sonny growls, grinding against him. Rafael stifles a cry into his shoulder, but Sonny hears the amused laugh before his sounds are muffled. “The one time I can see you at work and you hide it from me. For someone who hates surprises, you really enjoyed messing with me.”Or: Rafael keeps a secret. Sonny almost ruins his tux because of it but is rewarded for his troubles.





	Surprised

**Author's Note:**

> Look this is all Raúl's fault okay those pics of him in "Seared" spurred me on and I had to write about chef!Barba and his doting husband  
But I will take responsibility for Sonny getting a boner at the cheese grater lmaoooo that one is all me and totally an accident (but we needed it okay)
> 
> I'm also mildly sick so there may be some off moments (like they could have kissed for longer I think) but otherwise I laughed so hard writing the cheese grater scene and will continue to laugh at it for the next twenty years
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <3

Sonny returns home to a plethora of smells coming from the kitchen. They aren’t necessarily bad, but they don’t compliment each other either. Coffee for tiramisu and tomato sauce aren’t exactly paired up together, especially when there’s the distinct aroma of flavored meat and every item from their spice rack seeping to the door. It only smells this intense when his husband gets inspired for new menu items and tears through their kitchen for the right spice or the perfect ingredient. They were due for another hurricane eventually. Sonny simply didn’t know when.

He toes off his shoes by the front door, greets the spaniel and dachshund—Ruby and Jade—running around his feet and begging for pats, and prepares for the sight of the mess with a deep breath. Lucky for both of them, there doesn’t seem to be much of a catastrophe to avoid: most of the counter is covered in finished dishes, all with a used spoon to the side and a bite missing; the area that is sloppy is contained to the stovetop and the chef behind everything. He dips a spoon in the sauce and tastes it, running his tongue over his lips and humming.

“I bet it tastes good,” Sonny says. Rafael jumps and spins around, and he holds out the utensil for him.

“Taste this please?” He asks, half-distracted by the flavors he’s mulling over.

“Sure. What’re you looking for?” Sonny avoids the scampering pups at his feet and tries it. He had always enjoyed cooking; growing up, his sisters let him bond with their mother through the various family dishes and recipes she passed on to him. But marrying a chef—and a good one at that—with his own restaurant had come rather unexpectedly. At least he was the one in charge of dinner; by the time Rafael got home, he was tired of cooking until the lunch rush for the next day.

“Too much onion,” Rafael finally states, leaning over the stovetop to turn off the oven. The two sponge cakes he pulls out from the oven look light and bouncy, definitely the base of a red velvet cake, but Sonny can already predict the twelve different ways they won’t be perfect.

“It’s fine for me.” Sonny pecks the back of his neck, earning only a soft grunt in response. “How long have you been stressing over this?”

Rafael flips the cakes onto two separate plates and prepares a bag of icing, scooping buttercream frosting into a piping bag. When he doesn’t answer, Sonny nudges him gently and asks again. Rafael jumps and lets out a long sigh. “If I answer that, you’ll get upset.”

“Try me.”

“I got home at three.” He starts to pipe the icing onto one of the cakes, following the edge and working inward. “Catering call came in. I left early to plan.”

Sonny bites back a groan and wraps his arms around his husband’s waist instead; the dogs start barking, right on cue when he hugs their favorite parent. Four hours later, and Rafael has cooked and tried at least five dishes: two appetizers, an entree, and two desserts. “So this isn’t an experiment for a new menu.”

“The sauce and cake are new. I thought them up when I made the tiramisu.”

“At least we have dessert.” Sonny moves away with a peck and opens their junk drawer for one of their menus. “Is this dinner or do you want Chinese?”

“Chinese; the meat is overcooked.” Rafael flips the sans-frosting cake over to the buttercream and gently presses the two cakes together. “The appetizers are fine though.”

Sonny picks out one of the menus and pops one of the stuffed mushrooms into his mouth. The only difference from the usual recipe Rafael’s restaurant uses is the two new types of cheese added in with the parmesan. Otherwise, it’s as tasty as usual, and the flavor of the mushroom explodes on his tongue. He moans quietly and runs through the items, picking up their dachshund Jade when she whines and hops at his feet.

“How was work today?” Rafael asks. He’s turned off the sauce and started applying the frosting to the rest of the red velvet cake.

“Good, Mike says hi,” he says past another mushroom. Jade licks the air in an attempt to reach his fingers; he rubs her head as compensation. “He’s still salty I got a job offer from the DA’s office.”

Rafael chuckles. “Says the man who almost transferred to joint terrorism. And you can gladly tell him I said that.” A soft hand lands on his back, pleasant and warm, and Sonny turns to see the affection his husband is showering him with, from the fondness in his gaze and the light curve of his lips. “You’d make an excellent lawyer, for the record.”

“You only tell me every day.” Sonny smiles at him and kisses him. Five years of marriage, three for dating, and his life gets better with Rafael each day. “I’m just looking at all my options, y’know? If I can be more effective as a prosecutor, I’ll go with that, but I don’t wanna leave my squad behind.”

“You’d still be with them, just not in the way you’re used to. And there’s probably more room to move up. Not to bash Liv or Mike, but,” the sharp pinch Rafael gives his ass makes him jump with a pleased cry, “you need to move up somewhere.”

Sonny grins and tugs Rafael close. The shorter man automatically wraps his arms around his waist, probably staining his clothes from the mess his apron caught, but he refuses to stifle his husband’s koala habits. “I’ll have time. 1PP is hosting an event for us to commemorate our closing numbers.”

“How fancy. Do you need your tux refitted?”

“I should be fine.” Sonny puts Jade down so he can pull out his phone and dial the number for the Chinese restaurant. “Maybe if they give me a better raise, I can get _ two _ fancy tuxedos.”

Rafael purrs into his ear and presses against him. “How daring. Two tuxedos for me to rip off with my teeth.”

Sonny laughs bashfully at the hands roaming his front. “Is that why you’re getting my clothes dirty?”

His husband rears back with a surprised shout, suddenly realizing how messy he’s made his clothing, and Sonny falls in love with him all over again.

* * *

The night of 1PP’s banquet is the same as Rafael’s catering gig, so Sonny only sees him for lunch. He enters the bullpen with coffee for the squad—one which has a special message for Mike as Sonny’s “work husband”—and shares bits of gossip with his Captain for the entire lunch. He comes not only with gifts and for a moment of peace with his husband, but he also delivers his tuxedo for the banquet so he can change and head over immediately. The entire squad teases him for the kisses they share and how long it takes him to return upstairs after he walks Rafael out.

Thankfully, the tux fits him just as well as the last time he wore it. He carpools with Nick and Amanda, who battles her daughter over the phone for trying to flush her vegetables down the toilet. The hotel hosting the banquet is definitely one of the fancier ones, shining and tall against the darkening sky. Their superiors—Liv, Fin, and Mike—are waiting for them when they pull up and hand the car over to the valet. There are already a few other units—narcotics, arson and explosion, vice among them—who are arriving as well.

“It’s about time you made it,” Fine teases. “We almost sent the K9s after you.”

“Every traffic cop is out tonight,” Nick shoots back. “I saw two of them pulling over Grand Larceny’s Sarge. I wasn’t taking any risks.”

“We already had to call off Major Case,” Amanda adds with a smirk. “None of our cars exceed a hundred thousand dollars, and the valet is legal.”

“Keep the jokes to a minimum,” Liv chides them, stopping on the stairs to face them. The corners of her mouth flinch at an attempt to bite back a smile, but she keeps a majority of her expression neutral. “We’re honored and humbled to have an invitation. We don’t work for praise—we just do our jobs.”

“So if Missing Persons doesn’t appear, we’re not allowed to bring it up?” Sonny asks. The rest of the squad laughs; Mike, a big grin on his face, smacks his shoulder, and Liv only smiles and turns back to the front door. He leans over to Mike to whisper, “Ten bucks says someone brings it up in their speech.”

“Twenty if they mention Cold Case bringing down the temperature in the room,” he adds. They seal the deal with a handshake and plenty of giggles between them.

The ballroom to their right is full of round tables with white tablecloths, split by division and squad indicated by the nametags standing from the centerpieces. Chief Dodds stops by to greet them—Mike’s spine straightens up like a spring when he appears out of nowhere, and everyone notices the brief lingering gaze the Chief and Cap keep on giving each other. Sonny looks around to see who else is present from the brass; the aromas wafting from the catering table smell enticing and familiar. Homicide’s Captain greets Fin amicably; a few Narcotics pass by and share barbs with Nick; Mike makes nice with the various leaders who stop by to chatter about his father. Being the two without ties to any other division, Amanda and Sonny linger at the bar and sip their wine while they people-watch.

“I’ve always hated these events,” Amanda sighs. “They’re too gaudy.”

“I think you just hate schmoozing,” Sonny points out.

“That suggests that it’s odd for me not to.” When he shrugs, more to get under her skin than offend her, she snorts and shakes her head. “Sorry I’m not a golden retriever puppy.”

“Hey, I’m not disagreeing with you. I think this is just as dumb as you do.”

“Yeah, so you can make out with your husband on the kitchen counters.” Amanda slaps his arm and sits up quickly. “Speaking of which, I used your pasta maker for that date I had last week? The brunette who worked for IT at NYU?”

Sonny perks up. Both found a warm bond in their bisexuality; when they weren’t gossiping about their fellow squad members, they were critically judging the people who flowed in and out of her dating life. “How’d it go?”

Amanda scoffs. “Before or after I burned the lasagna and ruined her favorite pot?”

“Yikes.” Well. There was always next time. Or she could conquer whatever tension laid between her and Liv—or was it Nick?—hell, both of them, why not? “I told Raf that pasta maker was cursed. I’ll tell him later.”

Amanda looks behind them at a sudden burst of activity in the hall, and she breaks into a grin. She turns in her seat completely and leans against the bar with a wide smirk. “Ask him yourself.”

Sonny follows her gaze, and he has to stop himself from dropping his glass when a surprised cry jumps out of his throat. Most of the tables have been filled, including their own, and caterers are touting out dishes to the tables and filling drinks. The most recognizable person, however, is the head chef clearly directing them and approaching the tables once their food is served. Rafael waltzes from each table, asking guests about their food and grating cheese or pepper per requests. He is perfectly in his element: white coat tight across his chest, outlining him nicely; hands flying in the air to direct his employees, either back to the kitchen or to the table; each movement fluid and precise, either him sliding across the floor with quick strides or twisting the grinder. Sonny watches his wrist, already imagining that hand tugging on his dick, which is definitely pushing against his pants—jeez, he’s jealous over a pepper grinder.

Of course Rafael would keep his catering gig a secret. Of course he wouldn’t want to make a big deal of Sonny seeing him at work. Given their respected lines of work, it’s a miracle for either of them to see the other during work hours, let alone _ doing _ their job. Amanda practically leads him over by the arm to sit at their table. Rafael is a few tables away, but he looks up in their direction, and the grin he flashes him is oozing with pride. He knows what he did, the shit; he’s enjoying this.

But so is Sonny, which says more about their relationship than anything else could.

“Did you see who’s catering?” Amanda asks their table when they arrive. Liv and Fin look around at the caterers to see; Mike frowns with a confused tilt of his head.

“It should be Rafael’s restaurant,” he says. “I recommended Toque Del Sol.”

Sonny wants to kick his friend, but Nick and Amanda sit between them, so he settles for a piercing glare instead. “A warning would have been nice,” he grumbles. “Raf didn’t tell me.”

“I thought you two didn’t have any secrets,” Fin states. “Just the other day, you were bragging about how little you have to hide from each other because you can smell it a mile away.”

“We _ don’t _ have secrets, but that’s not the issue here!”

Mike looks at Sonny, eyes calculating him. “Are you that upset at seeing him?”

Sonny lets out a long sigh and shifts in his seat. Their dishes are delivered to them, all familiar sights from the restaurant. The squad has hosted many a dinner at Rafael’s restaurant, both planned and spontaneous. They frequent Toque Del Sol just as much as they do Forlini’s. “I’m not upset to see him.”

“He has a boner,” Amanda blurts, barely ashamed, taking a sip of wine at the comment. Nick chokes on his water; Fin’s eyebrows practically jump off his face; Cap just hangs her head and sighs, standing up and heading to the bar. One more table and Rafael will be here; the way he keeps glancing over at him, with those damn hazel eyes of his, is too obvious. They’re both lucky they don’t work together: they’d never get anything done.

“We don’t see each other at work,” Sonny explains, his face burning from his hairline to his bowtie. Hopefully, he can get his point across without any further embarrassment from his coworker. And to think he considered Amanda a good friend. “Our hours don’t let us. So it’s something special when we actually get to see each other doing our jobs.”

“There were those death threats he got two years back,” Nick points out. “Didn’t you arrest the bastard in front of his restaurant?”

“Yeah, and there was another time he came in for lunch when I was in the middle of an interrogation. He’s seen me working twice, but I’ve only seen him once.”

“Liv’s Captain party,” Mike muses quietly. The rest of the table hums in realization: Rafael insisted he host it, and the only words Sonny had said the entire night was during the toast, too distracted by his husband cutting onions or plating dishes to do anything else. He was hassled about it for the next month.

“And when he’s catering, he’s…” Sonny shakes his head to suppress the shiver that ghosts down his spine. He knew that Rafael, bossy and direct, never one to back down, always giving orders, was a force that he could not control. But to see him in the kitchen, guiding his staff, or on the floor of a large hall like tonight, Sonny wanted all of that attention on him. He wanted to be shoved around the kitchen and told where to sit, how far he should spread his legs, how loud he should be, where to put his hands—

“Evening, SVU,” Rafael’s voice rings in, clear and cool. His hand rests on the back of Liv’s chair, which he pulls out when she returns with a rather generous glass of red wine. Thankfully, the responses from the squad are casual and friendly, nothing suspicious. Sonny presses his hands together in front of his lips and stares quietly at his husband. Up close, he’s just as beautiful as he thought; decked in white, not a hair out of place, standing tall and sure. He works in a hot kitchen all day, but he never breaks a sweat. The man is made of magic.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mister Barba,” Liv says. Sonny internally begs his boss not to do anything that would embarrass him; she’s practically a third mother to him.

“I’m just stopping by. I want to make sure everything’s taken care of. If you need anything, or if you have any concerns, I’m happy to help.” The added wink to the end of his statement is clearly meant for Sonny and no one else. The bastard.

“How helpful,” Amanda says, the look she shoots him nothing but a tease as if she shared a joke for the two of them. When Rafael walks past him, his hand drags gently across the back of Sonny’s neck, light and mocking. 

“I’ll see you after dinner,” Rafael whispers to him. Sonny bites back the words he wants to share and simply nods. The second his husband leaves his sights to attend to the next table, Sonny sags into his chair, dragging his napkin over his lap in the best way to conceal his erection. If he teased him any longer, he was going to need a new tux.

There are a few words shared from the brass—along with the recognition of Lieutenants or Captains, including the loud claps and rowdy calls that SVU gives when their boss is called out—and a nod to their catering service for the good food. Just like every time he passes the restaurant or he hears someone sing its praises, Sonny’s stomach flips as the name is declared. He stuffs his face with more pasta when a few extra cheers come from his table.

“That fettuccini is looking a little bare,” Nick says to Amanda a short while later, gesturing to her plate. Her expression instantly flips into a predatory smile, eyes gleaming impishly. “Do you need more cheese?”

“Good idea, Nick,” she hums. Her hand raises to gather one of the caterers’ attention. Sonny prays that the person in the white coat isn’t his husband, but it’s not enough: Rafael personally makes his way over. His hand lands on the back of Sonny’s chair when he leans over, wrapped around the dark wood. “Could I get some more parmesan?”

“Of course,” Rafael grins. Sonny spins pasta noodles around his fork to distract himself from the grater that enters his field of vision from seemingly nowhere. “Say ‘when.’” The block of parmesan an employee passes him is not coincidental. Sonny shifts in his chair at the sound and wills himself to not look over at it. Just the mental image—the dry block of cheese rolling over the grate, back and forth, controlled by the firm motion of Rafael’s wrist—sends heat pooling in his gut and swirling behind his vision. It’s definitely much slower than any other time Rafael has had to do this, but he can control it.

“So Zara cut her own hair the other day,” Nick muses. Sonny knows the squad as well as they know him: they want him to look up and react to his husband “innocently” grating cheese; he recognizes what they’re doing immediately. “Just grabbed a pair of scissors and chopped it,” Nick motions with his hands—_ stay strong, Dominick, _ “right across.”

“She was growing it out, wasn’t she?” Mike asks, and Sonny wants—again—to kick him under the table. What a traitor. He’s revoking Mike’s Best Friend Rights the second they leave the banquet. “It was down to here, last time we saw her.”

“Well, she got a trim, at Maria’s insistence, but then she wanted to match Gilberto. But when they took her in, the hairdresser said it was too short for a girl, so she and Gilberto—”

“They colluded together?” Amanda gasps. “They really are your kids.”

Nick laughs. “They picked the scissors out themselves, bought it with his allowance, and she just cut it off.”

“What’s it like now?” Sonny asks, eyes trained on his wine glass, almost empty.

“She got it down to here before Maria intervened. See, Carisi?”

Sonny glances up at him briefly; unfortunately, in his effort to ignore his husband, he avoided him entirely. Rather than stay on Amanda’s plate, Rafael has been moved to Mike’s, right next to Nick. Sonny can’t help but hone in on his husband: his hand holding the cheese moves quickly, sliding over the grate, and when he reaches the end, he flicks it back to the beginning. His index and middle finger hold the sharp edges of the parmesan, and a few flakes of white dust his fingertips. And the protruding edge of the block of cheese between his fingers is definitely not an accident.

He was a good detective, but they were better. They had a plan and didn’t have to verbally share it. He was caught in their trap.

Sonny drops his fork on the table, dislodging the noodles from the utensil and plopping them in his lap. In his effort to grab the fork in midair, his hand hits his plate and dumps the remainder of his food down his front. He stands instantly—Amanda and Nick are stifling their cackles, the bastards—and Rafael appears beside him, the cheese and grater left on the table so he can grab his hand and haul him away.

“My apologies,” he says hurriedly, barely looking at him. “I should have known better. Let’s get those stains out.”

Sonny only speaks when they’re alone, tucked in the corridor between the kitchen and the ballroom. The second the double doors shut, he presses his husband against the wall and licks inside his mouth, finally satisfying his urge to kiss him. Rafael eagerly dives into his embrace and tugs on his shirt, his fingers offended by the lack of skin contact and scraping against him. The disaster of dropping his food on himself isn’t too bad if it brought him here. Maybe his coworkers were better than he initially thought.

The groan that Rafael huffs out sends a chill down his spine, and Sonny grabs his hips to press their clothed crotches together. Rafael moves back to sigh against his neck and pulls the lapels of his jacket. “This was worth everything,” he whispers.

“Was it?” Sonny growls, grinding against him. Rafael stifles a cry into his shoulder, but Sonny hears the amused laugh before his sounds are muffled. “The one time I can see you at work and you hide it from me. For someone who hates surprises, you really enjoyed messing with me.”

“What can I say?” The smirk hangs in his voice, and when Sonny looks up at him, the shine of his eyes matches the mischief of his tone. “I like to give more than to receive.”

“Fuckin’ liar.” His hands claw at the back of the white coat; Rafael laughs in his ear. “How could you do this to me?”

A lick up his neck, a soft nibble at his jaw, and Sonny is sighing into the words and the embrace wound around him. “You know what that tux does to me. I hate that I couldn’t watch you put it on. Your ass,” his hands grab the flesh through his pants and immediately start kneading, “in these slacks? Your fingers working that tie?” Since his hands are occupied, Rafael simply nudges the bowtie with his nose. “We wouldn’t even make it out the closet.”

“Keep this up and I’m gonna need another tux.” One of the caterers walks through the doors, breaking the muffled silence from the hall outside, but they don’t spare a glance at the duo. Sonny straightens up, Rafael removes his hands from his ass, and they keep a more respectful—less lustful—position. Rafael is already thumbing at his shirt with a deep frown. “What?”

“I can’t believe you ruined your tux,” he sighs, lifting a noodle from his shirt. His disgust deepens when he clears one from his coat. “You got some on me. We’re lucky it’s not suspicious.”

Sonny scoffs. “Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rafael pokes his chest, right between the stain and his tie. “I’m glad I surprised you, and I’d do it again.”

“I can always get the info from someone else. Your people love me.” His grin is purely teasing, a bit coy at his dimples, but it has the desired effect. Rafael’s eyebrows furrow in offense and he stands up straighter. As if he could ever match his husband’s height.

“And your people love _me_. Now, before they get suspicious of you, we’re cleaning your shirt.” Rafael grabs his wrist and starts to pull him towards the kitchen. Sonny goes along, to please him more than anything, but not without one more comment. They had time to joke around, just a bit longer; why wouldn’t he seize the opportunity?

“You mean you didn’t pull me back here to make out with me?” Even though Rafael can’t see it, Sonny puts on a good show with a heavy pout, eyes glistening with sadness at the lack of kissing they’ve done. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“If I had my way, I would. But,” Rafael finally looks back at him, snorting at his kicked puppy stare, and winks, “if you’re good, I‘ll reward you later.”

A cold rush washes over Sonny’s shoulders and trickles down his spine. The breath exits his body with a push of his lungs, nearly choking him with the image of Rafael bending him over the metal tables in the kitchen and rolling his hips into him. If there wasn’t an event for either of them to attend to in their own way, he’d beg his husband to just get it over with and throw him against the wall, fuck him through his pants, between his thighs, stains be damned. He’d offer a surprise of his own, sinking to his knees and wrapping his lips around Rafael’s cock, the thick base running against his cheeks while the head leaked on his tongue and, eventually, out the corners of his mouth, down his chin.

After they clean his shirt as much as they can—the jacket is a lost cause, they’ll have to clean it later—and after a few (dozen) stolen kisses, Rafael shoos him back to his table. The squad hollers at him—Mike apologizing for being in on it, Amanda and Nick still amused by the whole situation and impressed with their restraint—but says nothing else. Liv checks on him, ever the doting caretaker, just enough to silence the barbs that Nick and Amanda toss at him, but Sonny assures her with a warm smile and a joke of his own. (“Better a white stain from alfredo than something else, am I right?” At that point, Sonny wants to shoot himself in the foot for saying that to his Captain, and Nick and Amanda—and Fin, another traitor—_ really _ can’t hold back their shrieks of laughter after that.)

At least dessert calms them all down, and they can finally discuss something besides Sonny’s sex life. Like the fact that their hosts did make a joke about the Missing Persons Squad being present and asked Arson and Explosion just how many fires they had assisted in the kitchen for the dishes prepared. It was predictable, if a bit corny, but at least it provided entertainment for the squad, including SVU’s attempts to provide better jokes than the speakers.

Besides, judging from the fleeting brush against his neck and the warm smile he spots on his husband, there’s an extra serving of dessert for Sonny.

* * *

His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. His jacket is strewn on the counter beside him, and he has to sit up, fumbling, to reach it. At least Rafael had some mercy to spare and stopped thrusting so he could grab it. “Carisi.”

“_Hey, we’re leaving,_” Mike says. In the background, Amanda and Fin were arguing about something incomprehensible. “_Are you coming with us or you staying with Rafael?_”

Sonny glances at his husband—chest bare, hair sticking to his forehead, sheathed fully inside him, hips holding him down against the cold countertop—and a shock of pleasure thrums through his dick. He bites back a moan to avoid uttering it through the phone and takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Go on without me.”

If anyone else had called, they would have commented on the shiver of his voice and heavy panting. Mike would never—he’s good like that, Sonny should get him something nice as thanks—and instead answers like nothing is unusual. “_No problem. You two get home safely._”

“You too.” Rafael drums his fingers on his pelvis, verging on impatience but only coming across as teasing, and Sonny chokes on air. “I’ll let you know when we’re back home.”

“_Good for you, Sonny!_” Amanda hollers into the phone, suddenly very loud and up close. Sonny rears back at the noise. “_You deserve it!_”

Mike sighs when her cries get farther away. “_I’ll keep you updated._”

“You do that.” Sonny hangs up promptly—he can apologize for it later—and groans. He loves his coworkers, but his want for Rafael outweighs anything else. “Raf—”

“Your friends are very considerate,” he muses. He punctures the remark with a shift of his hips, just a small move to the right, and Sonny arches off the metal counter. “If I wasn’t busy, I’d be upset that they know so much.” Rafael leans down to bite his chest, sharp teeth grazing his pectoral and twisting his nipple, grinning at the soft whines it produces. “I thought this was just for me to see.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sonny sighs, grinning, and reaches for Rafael’s hand so he can peck the wedding band on his ring finger, “no one else will ever see this.”

“Good.” Rafael kisses his lips and stands up straight. It’s amazing how his legs haven’t wavered from standing for so long, but Sonny isn’t surprised. Just like he wasn’t shocked when he was dragged into the back the second the kitchen staff was dismissed and thrown against the counter. Just like he wasn’t taken aback by Rafael undressing and demanding he do the same, already kneeling to work him open. Just like he wasn’t surprised at how quickly he wrapped his legs around Rafael and yelled on demand, back bending and body writhing until Rafael held his hips down and slid into him.

Sonny is just happy to be with him. For as long as Rafael will have him, he will fall in love with him every day, all over again, at every expectation, and at each surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you keeping up with my Koala Rafael Barba writing habits: even if it's a small reference, I WILL add it in


End file.
